


in the underdraft

by badAquatic



Series: Trailerstuck [79]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Ashen-Pale Vacillation, F/M, Fan Offspring, Illustrated, Illustrated Nudity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:54:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3628956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eridan has an insanely bad idea and drags Karkat, Tavros, and Gamzee along for the ride into a yet to be explored part of New Jack City: the infamous Underdraft. </p><p>Takes place two weeks after "the depth of winter".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. edge of the city

**Author's Note:**

> The Trailerstuck podcast is back to regular updates but they still need more voice actors. (You could always use more voice actors for anything, in my opinon). Check it out at: letsreadtrailerstuck.tumblr.com.

**== >Be an incredibly anxious Eridan**

 

This is such a bad idea. This is an _insanely_ bad idea but you’re doing it anyway. You _need_ that plant— _the Opener of the Eye--_ to complete your ritual and you can’t go into uncharted parts of the city alone. Streetwalking taught that you that much (for all the good it did you). You’re sitting on a bus with Karkat next to you and across from you are Gamzee and Tavros.

Not that you have a problem with Gamzee. You don’t. You don’t have a problem with Gamzee at all. You told Karkat over and over again that you didn’t but you had hoped Gamzee wouldn’t come but the clown is (annoyingly) loyal to his warmblood matesprit.

“It’s a package deal.” Karkat assured the night before, “Tavros wants to come. Gamzee comes with. It’s better to have Gamzee with Tavros than Gamzee sans Tavros.”

You question why Karkat’s acting so amicable toward Tavros’s pet maniac, who you’re sure is still plotting a painful ‘accident’ for you. Fuck, you shouldn’t think of that. Paranoia is _not_ what you need right now. You need to focus on your goal. You take a deep breath and look at your iHusk.

You took a picture of the planet in the Book of Minos, showing a small floral plant with fuchsia petals and green white-freckled leaves. Alternian jessamine: an Alternian plant that you thought was extinct until an internet proved otherwise. It grew on New Earth but it was near impossible to obtain in your region.

At least not legally. You didn’t have time to suss out the particulars but a few nasty incidents in Illaska caused it to be outlawed...which meant some rebel had a greenhouse worth of the fuckers somewhere. Costly, rare, dangerous, which means it’s in the Underdraft. It’s a risk but you need that flower. With that flower, you can finally open your mind to the universe and learn what the powers that be have in store for you. You can ascend further than you ever dreamed of.

Still, you have to get to the place. The bus ride is an hour long and you get a leg cramp sitting in the chair. The bus is crowded with shabby looking people and you keep your bag close to you. You’re glad you strapped your wallet to your body. When the bus finally stops, people stand and start pouring out. You’re just glad to stretch your legs. Your heart is pounding as you step off the bus and look ahead.

The first thing that hits you is the smell: a spicy, pungent smell that makes your nostrils burn, combined with a hint of smoke. Following that is a grimy odor you've never smelt before: wet like mold growing in a long disused sewer. The second thing after that are the crowds upon _crowds_ of people. The Underdraft is far from the heart of the city but you wouldn’t know it looking here. It’s nestled below towering buildings and the sun is blocked out by an eternal cloud of smog, only the occasional weak rays of sun managing to break through. Here homes are stacked high, laundry hanging out to dry from windows. Some have small farm animals like chicken or rabbit set precariously on caged porches.

When you get off the bus, you’re immediately surrounded by people pushing along, getting off the bus, and packing on to go somewhere else in this sprawl, while more come off to push you in another direction. Loud honks fill the air from cars pushing through the crowd, slowly parting the sea of people while small electric bikes zip in and out of the mass. All along the dirty, pitted street are stalls of street foods you never smelled nor tasted. Small street vendors sit on the street corners with their wares spread out before them. Neon lights blaze everywhere and the smell of herbal teas waft from shops.

 

 

This is the Underdraft. A place even your father wouldn’t dare go and you can see why. There’s no sign of street gangs like in other parts of the city, but one look at the locals gives that away. Many are huge, larger than normal trolls, with eyes glowing their blood color. Many darkened their horns to black and grey rather than the normal candy corn shades, a sign they were from the untouched, outer colonies and had become drifters since Alternia and the colony planet’s destruction. They’re called ‘shadow trolls’ as slang but to traditional Alternians, they were nothing more than drifters. They’re interbred trolls through various bloodlines, lacking purity of lineage, class order, and known to be more aggressive to maintain their independent way of life.

Of course when it comes to smuggling in rare, exotic items, there are no equals.

You’re nervous just standing around here. Fear lingers in your gut and then Gamzee’s rumbling voice brings you back to earth: “So what are we doing and where are we even fucking going?”

“Um,” is the first word you manage because shit, you never thought trolls on New Earth could get so fucking _big_. You always thought shadow trolls were a myth (one of the _many_ exaggerated ones your father talked about). You turn to the others and pull out your iHusk, showing them the picture of the plant in question. “We’re looking for this plant: Alternian jessamine.”

“You brought us all the way here for a _plant_?” Tavros asks but his eyes aren’t on the screen but the sights: bright lights, food stalls tempting customers with their smell.

“It’s a very important plant and I can’t get it anywhere else.” you insist.

The nearest food stall does look enticing though, stacked with raw meats on wooden sticks, spiced up and waiting to be placed on the hot grill to be sizzled to a perfect crisp. Next to it, a woman rolls out dough, filling it with meat to form crispy meat biscuits that a large troll next to her dunks in oil to deep fry.

“What, does it get you really high or some shit? You can get stuff just as good closer to home without coming out _here_ ,” Gamzee grunts, “Hell; even ex-cons don't come around here. This is Seaira family territory and they ain't ones to take any encroachment. The horror stories you hear...” He smirks.

You know he’s trying to scare you. You know it…and yet you can’t keep yourself from swallowing hard.

“It can be used to get you high, among other things,” you admit, because although you lied about the plant being a secret flush gift for Kanaya, you don’t have to lie about its other uses, “but this is a gift.”

“How are we supposed to find an illegal plant in this chaos? I think we’re in the restaurant or whatever would be the restaurant section.” Karkat says, looking around.

“I say we eat and then we go looking.” Tavros says, moving closer to the meat stall and tugging his matesprit along.

You feel some satisfaction watching Tavros’s pet psycho put up with his appetite. You may be scared of Gamzee but he’s on someone’s leash and that keeps him from you.

 _For however long_ that _may last,_ an annoying, scared little thought whispers in your head.

“It isn't a food street... _every_ street looked like a food street coming in,” you grumble but you know Karkat has a point. You have no idea where to start looking. You follow Tavros to the stall, wrinkling your nose, “And why try the street food? It’s probably tainted with all sorts of illnesses. You'll just get food poisoning...”

You turn your head to look about the street. There are gated areas with old guards sitting out front or walking around, which lead to residential courtyards. From there are many apartments but also shops selling everything from fruit and clothes to bootleg electronics and fashion brands you haven’t seen before. A large rustblood with spiked horns sits at one street corner with a bucket of live turtles on one side and cages of white rabbits stacked to the other. Children rush about with cheap toys without a care in the world. For all the chaos and unfamiliarity around you, it seems no one here acknowledges any danger. It’s unnerving...but perhaps it had something to do with this Seaira family Gamzee mentioned.

“Oh, like _I_ have to worry about stomach flukes.” Tavros snorts and bravely gets a rack of questionable meat. (You _seriously_ hope that’s beef.) “I spent a whole summer at the East End Motels and didn’t die of a staph infection. My immune system would amaze Superkindtroll.”

“Who are the Seaira family?” Karkat asks. He pauses, “Wait, don’t tell me. Yet another scary crime family that’s carved up a piece of New Jack.”

“ _Kar_ , lower your voice.” you grunt, nudging him. Yeah, it’s cowardly but you don’t want Karkat to insult someone and get into a knife fight.

Gamzee rolls his eyes as Tavros buys the food.“Crime family? More like international trade organization. They run the books on a lot of shit. There ain't a politician or crime organization that doesn't pay fees to the Seairas if they want their goods delivered on time. How the hell you think crime thrives even when a city locks down?” The highblood drawls as if it’s obvious.

You make a face and turn from Tavros, only to see shadow rustbloods down the street. They’re siphoning oil out of the drains to take somewhere to be cleaned and resold. Gutter oil...and that’s what the food Tavros is buying was most likely fried in.

Your stomach turns and you look back to the shops. “Maybe we can start in a tea shop? They should have the flower.”

Karkat looks down the street, squinting as he looks past a rustblood selling rabbits, and points. “I think that’s a tea shop.”

You look at a squat building wedged between what looks like a butcher’s shop and another business you’re not sure about but the fact there are bars on the windows and no way to see what they’re selling tells you not to go in there. The building in question has a black sign with Chinese on it but you can make out the English letters ‘Tea House’ underneath.

You nod to the others just as Tavros is eating. It’s a struggle not to feel queasy looking at him but it doesn’t seem to be bothering him…yet. “Let’s head that way.”

The tea shop is low lit, with wood paneling on the floors and walls. The wares are mostly exotic teapots in different styles with various designs on them. At the counter is a jadeblood who’s watching you closely. You know you all stand out. You’re dressed nothing like the locals and you look like pureblood Alternians from a mile way.

“What do you want?” The store owner finally speaks up, narrowing her eyes.

“Do you sell Alternian jessamine?” you say, trying to sound as direct and mature as possible and definitely not intimidated by your surroundings. Karkat is looking at a display of various teas and Tavros at some wind chimes.

The store owner squints at you. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You hold up your iHusk, showing the picture you found online. “It looks like this.”

The store owner squints at the iHusk, rubbing her chin. “We don’t sell anything like that. That’s a rare flower, even for here. Listen.” She leans forward. “If you want something that, you’ll have to go see Zillas.”

“ _Zillas_?”You don’t know what you have more trouble believing: that the flower is that rare or someone had enough cruelty to name their child ‘Zillas’.

For someone with a name like Zillas though, it takes you a while to find the troll. The store owner told you he had a shop, which turns out to be nothing more than a plank of wood over two cinder blocks with some cheap novelty cellphone covers on sale with a small bowl asking for donations. That and you’re surprised to find that Zillas is blind.

Zillas sits behind his stall, smiling slightly, almost as if he had the greatest secret to tell and is dying to play a game about it. His eyes are covered by a bandana, no doubt to hide whatever tragedy took his vision or the scars there. He’s also huge, even by sea troll standards, his skin a dark ashen color with bright violet gills that seemed free of the usual gunk, his nails painted black and the horns also dyed ashen black to show he came from the troll minority group. He seems like an aimless troll to you; wandering from place to place, taking up odd jobs and living off the radar. When workers walk out, it’s common for companies to call in shadow trolls to replace them for a while before firing them. Honestly you would think the shadow trolls would get pissed but as soon as they came they were always quickly gone.

Here though, in Underdraft, it’s like they found a place to root themselves. As you and Karkat approach the blind sea troll, he looks up and his face goes to a large smile.

“ _Ah_...I was wondering when you would show up, oh grandchild of the Prince of the Sea, he who bore two scars and at your side, the son of the Signless one,” he says, his accent think and slurred but his words clear enough that both you and Karkat jump a bit. He turns his sightless gaze towards Gamzee and Tavros as they wander closer (Tavros now having a bag of deep fried yam fries), “And the son of the Subjugglator and the grandson of his nemesis, who spoke with the wild ones...interesting company comes to my stand and I suspect it is not for the cell phone covers or donations for a poor, poor blind troll.” He says with a sigh.

You’re a little spooked by the words, even though you try not to look at. Aside from Karkat, your group doesn’t stand out as particularly unique compared to other trolls and even then, there’s no way he’d know Karkat’s strange looks or the identities of your predecessors. Your heart beats faster. You now know this is where you’re supposed to be.

Karkat’s not taken in by his words. “I have to hand it to this guy. It’s a shop and a theatre.” he whispers in your ear.

You glower at Karkat but Tavros looks uneasy. “Maybe he’s just good at guessing? _Really_ good.”

Karkat nudges you toward Zillas. “Are you going to tell him what you want or are you just going to stand there looking surprised?”

You look at Zillas, trying not to shiver. “I’m…” You swallow. “I’m looking for Alternian Jessamine. I was told you have it.”

The troll tilts his head as he regards you, “....you do know what you are asking about, don't you? You really sure?” He pauses for a bit, his ear fins flicking, and then he inhales deep, tongue snaking out as if he’s tasting the air before nodding, “You are. Well then...this is business talk.” He grins and gets to his feet.

He’s even taller standing up and you are reminded of the stories your grandfather used to tell you about the misbegotten shadow trolls. They were the first colony. They were supposedly fine on their own as the Empire expanded and new worlds were conquered, but they were experimental. Within a generation, they had mutated, becoming more aggressive, larger, and had killed the drones sent to keep their reproduction going. Their language and culture warped, turning back to older ways.

“Barbarians and beasts,” was what your father called them. They were abandoned on that backwater planet and only brought from it to make good fodder and keep the “pure” trolls from dirtying their hands.

The only problem is they were tenacious and more bent on survival than their cousins, keeping low and out of sight, becoming a despised minority. Standing in the shadow of this massive sea troll, you really question why your ancestors scoffed at a subspecies that look like they could eat the Grand Highblood for breakfast.

Zillas turns down an alleyway, gesturing you to follow. “This way if you please.”

“Is it really such a good idea to follow the blind, giant, sketchy troll inside?” Karkat mutters. He’s looking at you with questioning eyes. He had assumed the plant was for Kanaya (an assumption you never corrected) but doubt must be forming given Zillas’s reaction.

“Where’s your sense of _adventure_ , Karkat?” Tavros asks, slapping the mutantblood on the back.

“With my sense of self-preservation.” Karkat mutters.

“I’m not leaving. Not yet.” You say but your eyes aren’t on any of them but Zillas.

He’s ridiculously tall and you wonder what your life would’ve been like if you were a shadow troll. Maybe you wouldn’t be so small and frightened. Then you remember the reason you’re so small and easily intimidated isn’t because of biology and personality. Well, that’s why you’re here. You’re going to change that for the better. After the ritual, the old Eridan will be gone and replaced with someone that could be admired and revered at the end of their life. Someone that your kids can be proud of.

The alleyway street is rocky, rockier than the rest of the Underdraft. You have to avoid piles of cement and rainwater filled potholes. You follow Zillas down the alley and he takes you to a hole in the wall—a literal hole in the wall of what looks like a large apartment-with a colorful Shongolian curtain across it. At the doorway is another large shadow troll who nods to Zillas.

You’re led into a room full of shadow trolls. Tavros stays closer to Gamzee (he may be adventurous but he still has a sense of fear). The shadow trolls paying you no mind. They’re playing checkers or some derivative with hemotype-colored pieces or talking amongst themselves. The air is thick with smoke, making your lungs burn. Whatever is in the air is stronger than nicotine and marijuana combined.

Zillas leads you through a maze of assorted chairs and to a stairwell where a large rust blood wearing a hockey mask is sitting and sharpening a machete, as if that’s a regular thing to do and in no way some terrible homage to _Friday the 13th_. You gulp and you’re sure Karkat and Tavros are now glued to Gamzee…despite the fact that the rustblood sees eye to eye with Gamzee and looked as intimidated by the purple blood as a German Shepherd would be of a teacup poodle. Zillas pays the rustblood no mind as he descends into the basement, which is thankfully smoke-free but frigidly cold. Zillas seems not to care as he leads you further down.

Soon you come to a large basement piled with boxes and only a single lamp lit where another, even larger seatroll sits. Like Zillas they’re blindfolded and pouring over records that another seatroll female is dictating to him in a strange dialect of Old Alternian. Neither he nor Zillas exchange a word as the big troll points to a few boxes. Zillas nods and holds out a rod as he hits around, much like how Terezi moved around. You hear a splash and see another violetblood rise from a pool behind them, drop a bag on the counter, and then move to rifle through some boxes, packing them into another pouch before turning to dive back into the water.

You wonder if that’s the smuggler’s route but dare not ask. Zillas is bent over a box humming before he slowly sits up, grinning.

“Alternian jessamine...although we call it ‘Black-Feathered Phoenix’ tea  among those that grew it for generations.” he says idly, stepping down with a small black bag in hand, “It was imported to the colonies as it grew well and kept most animals out of your lawn ring…though it grew wild and overgrown in some parts.” He chuckles as he extends a hand, “Two hundred boons and I throw in a novelty teacup to remember your trip to the Underdraft. Act now and buy it for three hundred boons and you can have the special edition Leonardo DiCaprio _Titanic_ tea set, complete with miniature Titanic bow to pose all your novelty toys on.” His tone is that of a practiced salesman as he continues, “And is there anything else I could interest you boys in? Perhaps some rare Fiduspawn cards--holographic with original Japanese text--or perhaps you are more interested in vintage shrunken heads? You want it, we got it! The Seaira family always caters to your every heart's desire.”

“Eridan,” Karkat whispers into your ear, “I thought you wanted a plant? Not tea?”

Shit, you forgot about his earlier assumption involving Kanaya. “Tea’s just as good, Kar. You know Kan likes tea too. This is pretty close.” You whisper back.

“If you say so…” Karkat mutters.

“I want the shrunken heads.” Gamzee says. He’s been quiet for so long you almost forgot he was paying attention at all.

Tavros winces. “Those look so creepy…”

Gamzee frowns at his matesprit. “You said I could have one thing.”

Tavros groans. “Fine, but I don’t want them hanging in someplace weird. Like in Torken’s room or the bathroom.”

“Eridan, get it for the tea set.” Karkat says.

“Now I _know_ you don’t drink tea.” you sigh.

“I might drink tea if I had that tea set.” Karkat insists.

“He has a crush on that pudgy blonde man.” Tavros says.

Karkat folds his arms. “He wasn’t pudgy when he filmed _Titanic_ and what’s wrong with that?”

“I’ll buy it if the rest of you calm down.” You sigh.

You doubt the shrunken heads are real, but Gamzee seems satisfied. Tavros also gets the Fiduspawn cards, which you’re amazed they still make. Karkat has the tea set and you hope Strider teases him for an hour about purchasing such a… _weird_ thing.

But you have the Alternian jessamine. It’s not fresh but thank all the cosmic forces you’re about to commune with that you finally _have_ it. You happily fork over the money without a complaint and can’t help but grin at the box.

“Make sure to boil the water and let it sit for a good five minutes, but keep the water hot though. Flavor is better when the tea sits. Makes its potency better, which is good if you’re thinking of surviving the night…without unfortunate stomach aches.” Zillas says as he runs his fingers through the money, grinning wide like he just won the lottery.

You’re almost sure that you were just cheated but you could care less. With your goods in hand you head back up the stairs. You’re relived to see the Jason wannabe rustblood has disappeared as you return to the streets. Stray cats rush by yowling. The crowds are still as congested as ever and food stalls are wedging in now. You’re nearly bowled over when you step into the street by a mountain of a troll--a shadow highblood--hunched by the weight of their own horns, looking off into the distance but...honestly they look fairly mellow for a highblood, cradling a clutch of eggs in a large bag with little cozies that look like lusus on each egg.

“Even the shadow troll eggs look freaking _huge_...” Karkat grumbles as the highblood shambles off.

“Can you imagine laying that? I think I would split in half.” Tavros says.

You shudder at the visual. “I’d rather not. Maybe they only have C-sections, like humans.”

“I wonder why they never took over Old Alternia.” Karkat mutters, “You’d figure at that size they’d be more durable than other trolls.”

“Who would want that planet?” Gamzee grunts, “The environment was shit and most of it was flooded or desert.”

You question why the trollphobic New Jack government tolerates the shadow trolls, but maybe it’s because they’re a small population of immigrants that keep to themselves. They have no interest in being bothered with anyone else. Maybe that’s why they’ve survived for so long.

You start walking back to the bus station, maneuvering through the mazelike streets. (How do the locals get _anywhere_ in this place?)

“Were there shadow trolls at Amethyst?” Tavros asks. He sounds genuinely curious and so are you, but you’re not talking to Gamzee; especially when it comes to that nightmarish place. 

Gamzee pauses, brow furrowing. “Only a few. They kept to themselves and mostly everyone ignored them. Something about ‘em…they just slide out of mind when you look or think about ‘em. They don't cause trouble unless you ask for it. Most of the ones in Amethyst were rustbloods wanted for stealing organs.”

“Stealing… _organs_?” Tavros echoes, blinking.

Gamzee nods, and then shrugs. “They hire some pretty troll--Alternian troll--to date trolls, humans, salamanders, whatever, and lead them home, drug em, then the rustbloods would come out and steal a kidney and the person wakes up the next morning in a tub of ice and an organ short. Some even wake up missing more than that like a leg or the like.”

Tavros pales and you hold your breath. In the prostitute line of work, it’s easy to be a casualty for that sort of scheme. You’d only heard rumors about the organ black market, reserved for those who couldn’t afford cloned limbs and organs for monetary or situational reasons. Cloned organs for reptiles and carapaces were especially hard to come by. Seems like the organ trade had its roots here and that machete the shadow rust had been sharpening earlier might be seeing other use later.

You shake your head and arrive at the bus stop, which is crowded with trolls. A shadow highblood is sitting with a large basket of live chickens in his lap. At the end of the station stands a tealblood shadow; tall, straight posture with a grim look on their face, a rosary in one hand as they murmur prayers, a Tome in their other hand. They almost seemed like a nun in their all black clothing trimmed with teal. The rest are typical Alternian trolls waiting for the bus. The bus is slow to come and packed to the gills, but you manage to squeeze in and be on the way home, sparing one glance back at the Underdraft.

They were a world of their own out here and so many questions came up. You still wonder why they were left alone despite their size. Is it because they’re so deceptively docile that no one pays them any mind or is it their minority status? Or perhaps they hid their talents. After all, you never heard of their kind having any psionic abilities, although it may occur within their population. Of that you have little doubt.

You arrive at your neighborhood without anything unusual happening. No shadow rust stalking you to regular New Jack. No nasty surprises hidden in your purchased items. Gamzee and Tavros go their separate way and you don’t spare them a second glance. Maybe things will be different between you three in the future, but for now? Good riddance.

Karkat leaves as well, scampering off with his brand new tea set. He’s excited as hell about it and (thankfully) he’s forgotten about the herbal tea being for Kanaya.

You return to your trailer to find Suxxor chewing on Sollux’s shirt and Sollux looking both tired and annoyed with his son. You put the package down and take your son so he can harass you for instead. You’ll have your religious awakening later. Right now, your child needs you.

 


	2. blue shell

**== >Eridan: Be Vriska at that exact moment**

_My feet are fucking killing me._ That is your first and only thought that keeps ringing through your skull.

The first morning of January—the first Thursday of the New Year—you drank water, ate a piece of toast, and swore that you would get your shit together. You weren’t a kid anymore hanging around the trailer park. You had a career to work on and other things to conquer. You couldn’t wallow in sadness just because of a New Year’s party going south. Thursday and Friday are spent researching, primping, and preparing. Saturday you get up at six and leave the penthouse at seven. Hecuba drives you to Vinton’s studio in downtown East New Jack, which is a loft on the top floor of Bramble’s Market, settled between a yoga studio and a seminar for vegan trolls. There’s a line out of the studio door, made of trolls that are far skinnier and prettier than you; wearing high heels, shoes, and expensive skirts and dresses. All of them are waiting for an opportunity from this single photo shoot.

You don’t need any of that. You dressed rebelliously, in Guess denim jeans with a Dolce & Gabbana shirt and Gucci heels. It’s a forty-five minute wait but when you enter the studio, it smells of frankincense and myrrh (a smell you easily recognize in hippie suburbia). Vinton stands near the camera while turtles scurry around, preparing models with makeup, shooing others off the scene, changing the lighting, or fiddling with the camera.

“After how quickly you left the party, I thought you wouldn’t come.” Vinton doesn’t look at you as they speak.

“I’m tougher than you think.” You say, keeping the growl out of your voice. It’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

Vinton points to a cube resting in the center of the shooting area. “Sit there and try to look attractive.”

The other models snicker. The turtles are indifferent. This bitch wants to break you. You’re not letting it happen. You walk to the cube and pose as you want. You looked at every magazine ad and know how to be sexy, alluring, or controversial. Vinton wants to see what you got, so you strut with the confidence of a thousand suns. You have nothing to be afraid of. You’re the granddaughter of the true Marquise Spinneret Mindfang. You have nobility in your blood. No matter what position you are in life, the attitude and personality always shine through.  

Vinton watches you the entire time, manicured claws on a turtle advisor. Their claws are digging in and if it weren’t a shell, the turtle would be howling in pain. Vinton watches you with the hunger of a cat observing a mouse. Looking at them, you realize they were the one that drugged you. Maybe not directly but they slipped the idea into someone’s head; suggesting the entertainment value of watching you lose composure. Even with the revelation, you retain your composure.  

You stay at the studio for seven hours, refusing water, food, and anything else from Vinton. Vinton even purposely drinks and eats in front of you, tormenting you about your hunger and enjoying it.

When the shoot is done, Vinton coolly says, “We’ll contact you.”

You leave the studio and go downstairs, browsing Bramble’s Market stores for clients. The independent book store always has the best talent. You spend the rest of the afternoon with a cane-dependent oliveblood. They treat you to dinner at a new bar called Glorious Technicolor.  You laugh at their jokes, listen to their stories, and keep their company and she gives you money.

You don’t ride home with her because you’re not in an entertaining mood. You take a taxi back to the penthouse and ride the elevator. You go to your bedroom and scream in your pillow.

For three days there’s nothing from Vinton. On the fourth day, Vinton calls saying “My colleagues are interested in starved and stretch-marked ceruleans for reasons I couldn’t possibly understand.” You return to the studio at seven in the morning again. Cameras flash in front of you and you pose and move as you’re told.

Vinton talks the entire time. “The presence of foreign brands is a disgrace in New Jack City. This is a Canzian city and Canzian brands should be the ones with power, not the Nehetalians and Neo Japanese.”

They’re not talking to you, just ranting about the industry. You tune out Vinton’s words as you pose, wearing Temptation blouses and skirts.

Winter break ends on the second week of January and you have to balance work with online school. Thrice weekly you have early morning photo shoots: Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday. You get up early, eat and drink in the penthouse’s safety, and work at school. Online classes are becoming a chore and you question if you should bother with it. The degree will be useless but there’s only a semester left. You hate to give up so close to graduation.

The third week of January, Vinton confronts you with paper.

“Sign it if you want to survive in this industry.” they hiss.

You hate this bastard but don’t give into pressure. You’ve been brushing up on your legalese with Hecuba so you read over the contract carefully. The contract is for three years with Vinton’s company and how much of a cut they receive. It’s all or nothing. You sign in triplicate and hand it to Vinton.

Hecuba wasn’t lying about Vinton working their models hard. You’re paraded around at photo shoots and exclusive parties with other models. Vinton drives you everywhere, keeps their ringed claws on you because they _own_ you now. This Saturday, you get up early to talk with designers for the new line at Storm in Heaven. Its drinks and appetizers at eight in the morning and you _hate everything_. Your hair is pulled too tight, the Dangerous Pleasure shoes are too small, the Temptation dress is itchy, and you hate Vinton touching you.

You’re thankful when the brunch party ends in the early afternoon. Vinton drives you from the designer’s luxury home in Finchester Lakes down a winding and isolated road, bereft of street lights and full of trees. The radio is off and Vinton is focused on the road.

The turtles always drive the other models home but you always ride with Vinton.

“Don’t you _ever_ fucking touch me.” You snarl.

“Get over yourself. You think I _like_ touching you?” Vinton asks, “I’m your agent, not your friend. My job is to make a sack of crap look better than another sack so I can get a cut of its money.”

“I don’t give a shit. Don’t fucking touch me.” you growl, “You think I don’t know what you did at the New Year’s party, you sick fuck? Do you get off on making me miserable?”

In one smooth move, Vinton pulls the car over and yanks you toward them. Their kiss is all teeth, piercing your lip with sharp fangs. Cold blood drips down your chin and you push away from them, digging your claws into their silk scarf and the jeweled strap of their dress. You separate and Vinton looks at you, panting. You’re trembling, having never been kissed like that before. You want to tell them to fuck off but you can’t. You’re shaking like a dry leaf.

“ _That’s_ what I get off on.” Vinton pants, “If you think otherwise, you’re self centered along with being a stupid girl.”

“Fuck off.” you stammer, gaining your composure, “Just… _fuck off_ , Vinton.”

Vinton laughs lightly and smiles. They keep driving down the road. The rest of the ride is silent and hateful. You’re squirming in your seat, wanting to ruin them.

You get dropped off at the penthouse complex again. Vinton doesn’t spare you a second glance and _you hate them._ You hate everything about them.

You take the elevator to the penthouse but no one’s there. Not even Snippy is running around. You go to the bathroom and see Vinton’s kiss smeared your makeup and lipstick and there’s crusted blood on your lip. Vinton’s marked you as theirs.

_You hate them._

You clean off the makeup, inhale, pace around the room, and collect yourself. Fuck Vinton. _Fuck Vinton._ Screaming into your pillow won’t work for today. You strip off your clothes and take a long shower, washing your hair. You bundle a towel around your head and stagger through the apartment with your vision blurred by fabric and wet hair.  

You move through the living room, heading to your bedroom when something crunches under your foot. You groan because the only thing you could’ve stepped on in Hecuba’s pristine apartment would be one of Snippy’s cast-off skins. You lift up your foot and see it’s not a white spiny skin. It’s a cerulean shell, wet with mucus and blood.

You stepped on your kid.

You stepped on your _fucking_ _kid_.

You can’t breathe. Your chest is tight and the room is spinning. You fall on the ground and start hyperventilating. You crushed them. You crushed your child. Oh gods. _Oh gods._ You killed your child.

You don’t know what to do. You didn’t have a plan for this. You didn’t see this happening. Oh fucking gods, what have you done? You’re so frightened you can’t even cry. You take a deep breath. Alright, Vriska. Pull it together. _Pull it the fuck together!_ You take another deep breath and start looking around the room. The nest Snippy built for Arthat is empty, so the egg tumbled out…and you fucking stepped on it.

You have to tell Karkat.

You stagger over to the phone but then put it down. You can’t talk to Karkat. The first thing that’ll come out of your mouth is a scream. You can’t even look at the crushed remains of the egg. You retreat to your bedroom and partially close the door so there’s only a sliver of light entering. You want to scream but can’t. Screaming would bring security and security would bring people. People means you’ll go to jail for infanticide.

(Oh gods. You killed your child.)

You take out your iHusk, reminding yourself to breath. You need to breathe.

( _Oh gods..._ )

 

\--arachnidsGrip[AG] began trolling carcinoGeneticist[CG]!—

\--carcinoGeneticist[CG] is idle!--

 

AG: Karkat.

AG: Karkat.

AG: C’mon, you’re always worrying a8out me and shit. Why aren’t you here?

AG: Karkat, c’mon. Please.

AG: Please 8e there.

AG: Stop reading your stupid 8ooks or watching a shitty Nicholas Sp8rks movie and talk to me! Karkat fucking TALK TO ME R8GHT NOW!!

AG: please

 

\--carcinoGeneticist[CG] is active!--

 

CG: VRISKA?

AG: Karkat!

CG: VRISKA, WHAT’S WRONG?

AG: I killed our kid.

CG: WHAT?

AG: I killed them. I killed our grub. I stepped on them im so f8cking stupid im sorry karkat oh go8ds I k8lled them

CG: VRISKA, CALM DOWN. YOU’RE PANICKING.

AG: I killed our kid!!!!! How can I 8e fucking CALM a8out that KARKAT?!?!

CG: VRISKA, I CAN’T UNDERSTAND YOU. DO YOU WANT TO TALK TO ME OVER THE PHONE?

AG: No no no I can’t I’ll scream

AG: i cant even talk to anyone right now fuck karkat

AG: i KILLED arthat

CG: VRISKA, I WANT YOU TO TAKE A DEEP BREATH. TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND THINK ABOUT EXACTLY WHAT HAPPENED. THEN I WANT YOU TO CALMLY TELL ME EVERYTHING.

AG: okay

 

You take a deep breath but you just feel dizzier than before. You want to vomit.  

 

AG: I came out of the shower and was walking to the living room and then I stepped on something. I thought itt was one of Snippy’s molting skins and I looked down and

AG: and it was cerulean and oh gods karkat

AG: i killed arthat

CG: ARE YOU SURE IT WAS ARTHAT?

AG: Yeah, I’m sure! It was an eggshell! They weren’t supposed to hatch for another week!!!

AG: they were going to be so 8eautiful karkat and i

AG: i destroyed it

CG: OKAY, BUT WHERE’S SNIPPY?

AG: Snippy?

AG: i…

AG: I don’t know. i didnt see him

CG: VRISKA, SNIPPY NEVER LEAVES ARTHAT. YOU TOLD ME SO. SO WHERE IS HE?

AG: i dont know karkat i just don8t know anymore things are just so fucking confusing right now and i just

 

You start sobbing. You can’t see the iHusk screen through your cerulean-tinted tears. You don’t care if the downstairs neighbors or patrolling security guards hear. You can’t hold it together anymore.

“Que?”

The small noise cuts through your disgustingly loud sobbing. You wipe your nose and sniffle as the door slowly swings open. Snippy skitters into the room, dragging a long strip of toilet paper in its claw. On his back is a cerulean grub squinting up at you; its skin still wet from hatching.

“Que?” it says, clearly.

Snippy chirps and moves to your foot, offering the toilet paper. He must have heard your distress and is trying to… _help_. Quivering, you take the toilet paper and wipe at your eyes and nose. The grub is still squinting at you.

“Arthat…?” you mutter. The grub tilts his head and you reach out to pat their head. Their hair is soft and so are their horns. The grub huffs.

“Que?” it repeats.

You gently pick up the grub, which starts squirming in your grip. They’re so small, they can fit in the palm of your hand, and incredibly annoyed about it.

 

 

“ _Non_!” Arthat screeches.

Snippy starts hissing so you return Arthat to him. Snippy settles next to you and shuts his eyes. Arthat giggles and lays down on his lusus’s back with a sleepy purr.  

Your iHusk is still beeping.

 

CG: VRISKA?

CG: VRISKA, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?! I’M COMING OVER!

AG: No! I’m alright!

AG: I just

AG: Arthat must’ve hatched while I was away. He’s fine.

CG: HE?

AG: Um, yeah. Arthat’s a boy.  

CG: LET ME SEE HIM!

AG: Alright, hold on.

 

You aim your iHusk at Arthat, grinning. “Arthat, look!”

The grub frowns but looks up at you. You take a flashing picture and he hisses. “Que? _Que_?” he shouts, outraged.

You save the picture. It’s not high quality but it shows Arthat.

 

\--arachnidsGrip[AG] sent grubthat.jpg!--

 

CG: WOW. HE REALLY IS…

CG: BRIGHT BLUE.

CG: He’s fucking adorable.

AG: I know. He’s perfect, just like me.

CG: I’LL INFORM YOU THAT HE HAS MORE OF MY GENES. HE DOESN’T HAVE THE EIGHTFOLD EYE, FOR ONE THING.

AG: I know. I’m disappointed. ::::(

CG: MAYBE HE WON’T HAVE PSIONICS?

AG: Maybe. I’ll find out when I go have him checked up.

CG: OH SHIT, THAT’S RIGHT. YOU HAVE TO TAKE HIM TO SEE IF HE’LL NEED PSIONIC DEPRESSANTS.

AG: Yeah. State mandatory. No way out of it.

AG: Not looking forward to it.

CG: MAYBE HE’LL BE FINE. YOU DIDN’T NEED THE SURGERY.

AG: Yeah, but mine aren’t very strong.  

 

You don’t like to talk about psionics over Trollichum. It wouldn’t be beyond the Canzian government to monitor conversations about it and ever since you became aware of the black coats, you’re cautious about what you say over the phone or Internet. You know it’s silly but that level of paranoia is why you’re still alive.

 

CG: VRISKA.

AG: Yeah?

CG: THIS IS CUTE AND ALL, BUT SOMETHING IS SERIOUSLY WRONG WITH YOU.

AG: Excuse me?

CG: YOU CAN’T JUST FUCKING MESSAGE ME FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT ABOUT ARTHAT AND THEN JUST BOUNCE BACK AFTER IT TURNS OUT HE’S OKAY. WHAT ELSE IS GOING ON WITH YOU?

AG: What are you talking about?

CG: WHAT IN THE SHIT IS GOING ON WITH YOU, VRISKA? YOU DON’T TALK TO ANYONE BUT TEREZI NOWADAYS. NOT EVEN KANAYA OR YOUR PARENTS HAVE HEARD FROM YOU. DO YOU EVEN KNOW THAT ARANEA IS PREGNANT? THAT KANAYA AND ERIDAN ARE SOMEHOW *STILL* A THING?

CG: I KNOW YOU THINK YOU’RE BETTER OFF ALONE AND FAR SUPERIOR TO US NINERS BECAUSE YOU LIVE IN SUBURBIA, BUT YOU SHOULD REMEMBER THAT AT THE END OF THE DAY, YOU HAVE FAMILY. AND IF YOU DON’T HAVE FAMILY, YOU HAVE FRIENDS. AND IF YOU DON’T HAVE FRIENDS, YOU HAVE YOURSELF. AND IF YOU DON’T HAVE YOURSELF, THEN YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING.

CG: SO, I’LL ASK AGAIN: WHAT IN THE SHIT IS GOING ON? AND IF YOU DON’T FUCKING TELL ME, I’LL COME OVER.

AG: You can’t come here, Karkat!

CG: WHY NOT?

AG: It’s a priv8 complex. They won’t let any 8umpkin in. There’s security and they have tazers *and* guns.

CG: THEN I’LL KEEP COMING. THEY’LL EITHER ARREST ME OR LET ME IN. I’M ARTHAT’S BIOLOGICAL FATHER. I CAN DEMAND A VISIT.

AG: You can’t demand a visit!

CG: I NEVER SIGNED A LEGALLY BINDING DOCUMENT AGREEING TO CUSTODY SO THERE’S NO WAY YOU CAN LEGALLY OBSTRUCT ME FROM VISITING MY SON WITHOUT US GETTING DRAGGED INTO COURT.

AG: This is exactly why we 8roke up! You’re smothering me again!

CG: I ONLY SMOTHER YOU BECAUSE YOU FUCK UP, VRISKA.

CG: YOU FUCK UP, *A LOT*.

CG: YOU FUCK UP SO MUCH THAT IF THERE WERE A BOOK OF ‘VRISKA FUCKING SHIT UP’ IT WOULD HAVE MULTIPLE VOLUMES AND RIVAL THE LENGTH OF HARRY POTTER. THAT’S HOW MUCH YOU FUCK UP WITHOUT SOMEONE STRAIGHT UP TELLING YOU, BECAUSE YOU WOULD RATHER CONTINUOUSLY FUCK UP FIXING A BAD SITUATION ON YOUR OWN, THAN ADMIT TO FUCKING UP IN THE FIRST PLACE. AND I CARE ABOUT YOU, VRISKA, BUT YOU FUCK THINGS UP. VERY. EASILY.

AG: What are you doing? Trying to be my moirail?

CG: GODS NO. FIRST OFF, YOU WOULD *NEVER* LISTEN TO A MOIRAIL. YOU’D JUST DUMP YOUR PROBLEMS ON THEM AND WALK AWAY WITHOUT A CONCERN IN YOUR COBWEBBED HEAD. BEING YOUR MOIRAIL WOULD BE A FUCKING NIGHTMARE. JUST TELL ME HOW YOU’VE FUCKED UP THIS TIME.

AG: And what? You’re going to fix it like fucking Mary Poppins?

CG: NO. I’M GOING TO AUSPITIZE BETWEEN YOU AND YOUR FUCK UPS. THAT’S IT.

AG: Auspitize? You’re kidding me.

CG: VRISKA. EITHER SAY IT OR DISCONNECT.

AG: You think I can’t admit to my fuck ups?

CG: I THINK YOU’RE A GAMBLING TROLL AND YOU ALREADY KNOW THE ODDS OF WHETHER OR NOT YOU’LL DO IT. WHAT’S RUNNING OUT NOW IS MY FUCKING PATIENCE, SO YOU CAN SAY IT OR DISCONNECT AND PREPARE FOR US TO HAVE A CUSTODY BATTLE BECAUSE I’M NOT LETTING YOU HAVE AN EMOTIONAL MELTDOWN WITH MY SON AROUND.

 

You have to take another deep breath so you won’t scream in frustration. You wish you could believe Karkat’s threat of coming down here and getting into a custody battle with you was empty, but he’s been acting strange lately. You don’t want to take the risk of dealing with his presence in your hair. You also don’t want to deal with court appointments and all that other bullshit associated with custody hearings. 

 

AG: Fine.

AG: My day was shitty. I’m a model now so I have to get up really early and do photo shoots. I h8 my 8oss. I h8 them a lot and they h8 me 8ack. We kissed even though I h8d it and h8d them. I came home a fucking mess 8ecause of them and it’s not even fucking evening yet! I h8 them so much that I can’t even think straight.

CG: NO.

AG: No?

CG: DON’T PITCH THEM.

AG: How would you know?

CG: RULE OF THUMB FOR PITCH IS THAT YOU NEVER PITCH ANYONE WHO HAS LEGAL OR EMOTIONAL POWER OVER YOU. A BOSS IS THE WORST KIND OF PERSON YOU CAN PITCH BECAUSE YOU CAN NEVER HIT THEM BACK THE WAY THEY CAN HIT YOU AND IT QUICKLY CAN TURN ABUSIVE.

AG: I know the difference between pitch and a8use, Karkat.

CG: DO YOU?

AG: Yes!

CG: WHO INITIATED THAT KISS? THE BOSS OR YOU?

AG: They did 8ut I didn’t mind.

CG: WERE YOU IN A SITUATION THAT YOU COULD RUN FROM? IF YOU REFUSED THE KISS, WAS THERE A DANGER THAT YOU WOULD BE HURT OR LEFT SOMEWHERE? LIKE, THEY FORCED YOU TO KISS THEM AND THEY WERE YOUR RIDE BACK HOME?

AG: We were in a car and they were driving.

CG: SO YOU WERE PRESSURED TO KISS THEM.

AG: No! I hated it but I also didn’t mind!

CG: THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA.

AG: I don’t know why I talked with you a8out this. You’re no quadrant expert.

CG: WHAT ELSE HAVE THEY DONE AS PART OF BLACK FLIRTATION?

AG: Just little things to get under my skin. Insulting me, needling me, always trying to get me to fight them. Things like that.

CG: YOU’RE LEAVING SOMETHING OUT.

AG: What makes you say that?

CG: YOU’RE BEING VAGUE IS WHY.

AG: …I think they drugged me. I’m not exactly sure but odds point to them doing it.

CG: AND YOU SERIOUSLY WANT TO PITCH THIS PERSON? ARE YOU ROCK STUPID?

AG: Hey!

CG: I’M HONESTLY ASKING BECAUSE YOU WANTING TO PITCH-FUCK THE PERSON WHO MAY HAVE DRUGGED YOU IS FAR LESS INTELLIGENT THAN A SACK OF ROCKS.

AG: I don’t know why I told you this!

 

\--arachnidsGrip[AG] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist[CG]!--

 

You already know how stupid it is to pitch Vinton but you hate them more than you can stand. Karkat doesn’t understand. Fuck him. You don’t care.

Karkat doesn’t bother trying to message you. You’re glad for it. Just to prove how irritated you are, you block him. You look down at Arthat, who’s sleeping on Snippy now.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, kid.” you sigh.


	3. conflicted evening

**== >Vriska: Be Kankri at that moment**

 

January is mild in New Jack City. People are returning to work and school as the temperature starts shooting up, shifting between fifty to seven degrees. It’s far preferable to the frigid forty-fifty degree chill of December (well, chilly for an Easterner). It’s nice enough to relax outdoors so you pull the old plastic chairs on the front lawn and enjoy yourself with Terezi. The outside of the trailer still bears the damage from the Cherubs: grass needs replanting, and the front stairs are still in ruinous condition. You’re thinking about installing a porch on the trailer and considering the logistics, along with your renter’s agreement.

“I just think a porch would look nice. We could relax on it, instead of in these old chairs.” You tell Terezi.

“I think we should put the money toward a second trailer if Kurloz and you have another ‘accident’.” Terezi says, sniffing through her senior history textbook, “We’re running out of space.”

You groan. “Second story trailers _can’t_ be safe. Just plopping one trailer on top of another? Not to mention reworking all the pipes and then who would live upstairs? I don’t think it’s a good idea to have unsupervised children on one level and adults on another. What if someone gets hurt?”

“We might not have a choice, Kankri. What happens when Kempie and Astrid get older? Or if _we_ have more kids?”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want more children, but you have to budget them. You can only squeak by with two for now because you’ve cut out the cost of preschool by working on a rotation list with the other parents. The only issue is if someone gets sick or has a change in their employment.

“I think we shouldn’t rule out having kids in the future.” you insist, “We can’t rule out our money situation improving in the future. I doubt the rent hike is still going through, but we can still go through our cost saving plans. We still have the hydroponic equipment and materials to grow our vegetables.”

“True. It’d be a waste otherwise.” Terezi admits.

You see Tavros coming down the road and trailing behind him is Gamzee. You don’t acknowledge him. You’re indifferent to Gamzee now, the fear long since evaporated when you recognized him as nothing but a shrunken, miserable troll. That and the knowledge of Gamzee having experienced worst treatment in prison puts you at immense ease. It’s wrong and triggering but you _relish_ knowing that when your enemy is alone and in their bed with their beloved, they’re still a frightened child that knows what true fear is.

“Terezi!” Tavros says, “What are you guys doing out? Usually you’re camped out inside the house.”

“The lawn’s finally dry enough so we can sit out here.” Terezi says, “What’s up?”

Tavros holds up a black plastic bag, grinning. “I got rare Fiduspawn cards!” He nods to his matesprit, eyes rolling. “And Gamzee got shrunken heads.”

“No way,” Terezi says, grinning, “and I say that about the shrunken heads, not the cards.”

“The cards are important.” Tavros huffs.

“I told you the shrunken are cool.” Gamzee says.

“Weird is more like it.” Tavros says.

“It starts a better conversation than ‘look at my dorky pieces of paper’.” Gamzee says.

“They’re not pieces of paper. They’re rare holographic cards.”

“You’re _both_ dorks. Let’s go inside and see what you got from the toy store.” You sigh.

You go inside and getting a closer look at Tavros reminds you of how much time is passing. You watched Tavros grow up but only now is he starting to look his age, or maybe the pregnancy hormones just jumpstarted a long dormant process. The bags under his eyes have disappeared and he’s gained facial hair. You rub your bare chin and consider growing one. Meenah said your latest haircut made you look like a ‘choir boy’. Maybe a beard would remedy that.

The four of you sit at the living room table and Gamzee upends his bag of three shrunken heads. You grimace and don’t want to touch them, but Terezi is far more exploratory. 

“There’s no way these are real.” Terezi says, observing the shrunken heads.

“Don’t really care if they’re real. I like them.” Gamzee says, “Only way to make sure they’re real is to make ‘em on your own.”

“You know how to do that?” you ask.

“Yeah. It’s a pain in the ass.” Gamzee says, “The fake ones are usually monkeys or sloths but these don’t look like monkeys to me, or not any monkey I’ve seen.”

“Have you bought something like this before?” Tavros asks.

“Yeah. In Aniline End they got all sorts of shit but all of its all bootlegs,” Gamzee says, “cause the sweatshops are there. Sweatshops are fucked. They make you work from six to midnight, sewing shoes in stairwells or in someone’s kitchen for motherfucking _pennies_.”

It sounds like he’s speaking from experience. “If you know how to sew, you could always go into actual retail.”

“I would rather go back to prison than go into retail.” Gamzee snorts.

Terezi sniffs the shrunken head she’s holding. “Where did you even get these from?”

“The Underdraft.” Tavros repeats, “This blind troll sold it to us.”

“The Underdraft? I thought you were joking!” You say with a shudder. You were always told to avoid the sketchier parts of New Jack and every neighborhood had a sketchy underbelly, but the Underdraft is the sketchiest of them all.

“We didn’t go alone. Karkat and Eridan went with us.” Tavros says, “Eridan wanted a plant and he was too chicken shit to do it alone.”

“You just wanted to go gawk.” you grumble, “Do you have any idea how _dangerous_ that area is? You could’ve had your organs stolen!”

“That’s what he’s for.” Tavros says, patting Gamzee on the shoulder. Gamzee smirks and kisses his matesprit. That gets the bronzeblood to laugh and squirm. “Noooo, stop…”

“Oh my _gods_ , you two are disgusting.” Terezi says, putting down the shrunken head.

There’s a knock at the screen and you shout, “It’s open.”

Karkat opens the door, looking at you. “You seriously don’t lock the screen door? Have we literally learned _nothing_ these past years?”

“It’s like eighty degrees in here and I doubt anyone’s going to go through the effort to rob us.” Terezi says.

“Need to borrow the car, Karkat?” you ask.

“Nah, I thought I’d show you _this_ in person.” Karkat says, holding up his iHusk.  

You take the iHusk and see a picture of a bright cerulean grub sitting on the back of a scorpion lusus. You grin at Karkat. “Is this who I think it is?”

“Yup. It’s Arthat. My son. He is perfect.” Karkat says, proudly.

“You haven’t even met him in person yet.” Tavros snorts.

“And how do _you_ know?” Karkat asks.

“Because Vriska sent Aranea pictures and I got some as result.” Tavros says, “Of course I had to give her pictures of Torken even though he’s not actually going to hatch until late March or early April.”

“Tav…where’s Torken?” Gamzee asks. Tavros searches in his messenger bag and pulls out a plastic container filled with pellets. Inside is a medium sized bronze egg. Gamzee scowls at his matesprit, “You had them the _entire_ _time_ we were in the Underdraft?”

“I couldn’t leave them at home! You know how irresponsible my mother and Porrim are.” Tavros says, “Torken’s _way_ safer with us and they’re in the incubator so they’re still warm.”

“You should let me hold them.”

“ _No_.” Tavros hisses, tightly clutching the egg incubator.

“Count yourself lucky you get to see yours in person.” Karkat snorts and sits next to Terezi. He looks at the shrunken heads on the table. “So are the shrunken heads real or not?”

“Jury’s still out on that,” you say, “but now I think we’re just killing time.”

“That’s more or less it.” Gamzee grunts, arms folded.

“Grandpa and Gamzee have been fighting ever since I had Torken,” Tavros sighs, “so we usually just hang out until later when Grandpa’s out.”

“Why are you guys fighting?” Terezi asks.

“How in the fuck should I know what goes through that fuck’s head?” Gamzee growls.

“When did you even _have_ Torken?” you ask, “I didn’t hear about you going to the hospital.”

“I had Torken at home because it’s more comfortable. Do you seriously think I want to go to a hospital full of sick and dead people and have my kid there?” Tavros says. When there’s a lull in the conversation, he folds his arms and says with a huff, “Why are you looking at me like I have two heads?”

“Just never thought you’d go the full hippie is why.” Karkat says, smirking.

You have a better understanding of why Tavros wouldn’t go to the hospital. Gamzee has a paralyzing fear of hospitals and he wouldn’t want to go without his matesprit.

Thankfully, Terezi changes the subject. “Did you ever find out who your grandfather’s auspistice and moirail are?”

“Not yet, but they talk every day and play videogames all night.” Tavros says, “They haven’t done anything important. Just bumming around like a bunch of teenagers.”

You frown. “Have you two been… _spying_ on Petros?”

Terezi and Tavros glance at each other.

“…no.” they both say, unconvincingly.

“ _Why_ are you spying on Petros?” you groan, “He’s dangerous.”

“We just want to know more about him.” Terezi says, innocently.

“Terezi thinks he’s not who he says he is.” Tavros says, honestly.

You glare at your matesprit and she pouts. “I just have my doubts about him and his story.”

“ _Both_ of you are asking for trouble messing with that man.” You grumble. You still can’t recall the night of the murder, or why you’re still so uneasy around Petros. That night in your head is dark, stippled with blood and stinking of burning flesh.

You shudder and stand, going to the kitchen. You start working on dinner while the others continue laughing and talking. When you return to the living room, the kids are sitting on the couch watching the news. 

“They’re _still_ trying to figure out who killed those Trussians?” Tavros groans, “It’s been months. Who gives a shit?”

“Part of the problem is that there’s no clear lead.” Terezi says, “It’s not like innocent civilians were involved. Meliak Vantas may have been a businessman on paper but he had a long list of enemies. Anyone could have done it or it could’ve been someone from his past. Not to mention the unusual murder weapon.”

“That lance was a bitch to pick up.” Gamzee grunts.

“Who the fuck murders people with _lances_?” Karkat groans, “What is this? 13th century England?”

“Lances were more popular in France than England.” Tavros says.

“Is that true?” Terezi asks.

“I dunno. I wanted to see if you’d believe me if I said it in my ‘educated important voice’ that Aranea and Kankri use.” Tavros says.

Karkat and you take this as a chance to throw a pillow at Tavros’s head. This turns into a full blown pillow fight and after thirty minutes of throwing pillows and tipping over the lamp, you all give up. Tavros, Gamzee, and Karkat stay over for dinner. After dinner, you watch _Wait ‘Til Your Ancestor Gets Home_.

“I’m confused about when this show takes place exactly.” you say, “Is it New Earth or Alternia?”

“It’s wherever they can afford to stage things with those cheap sets.” Karkat says.

“We’d know better if they weren’t indoors all the time or the backdrops showed the damn moon.” Gamzee asks.

“They call their parents ‘ancestors’, so I assume this is Alternia,” Tavros says, “but their ancestors live with them, which means it could be New Earth. But the Condesce is still around in this show’s continuity so it really doesn’t make any godsdamned sense no matter how you look at it.”

“I think humans wrote this show. They’re always messing up our history.” you say. 

“I think this show is terrible and we should _turn_.” Karkat says.

“There’s nothing else on, you dingus.” Tavros says.

“Don’t call me a dingus, you dingus.” Karkat grumbles.

“Are we not going to talk about how the lusus can talk in the theme song but _not_ in the show?” Gamzee mutters.

“The lusus is obviously a puppet. He can do what he wants.” you say.

You’re all startled by a loud bang at the front door. When you open it, Petros is staring at you with the most agitation you have ever seen on his face. Your vocal cords are paralyzed and you move away, letting the large bronzeblood inside. Petros looks at Tavros and Gamzee immediately moves in close to his matesprit. You shut the door and stay close to the wall, putting as much distance between Petros and yourself as possible. Karkat glances at Petros but keeps his attention on the TV and Terezi is defiantly staring at Petros (or maybe she’s trying to smell out his mood).

“Tavros, what the hell are you doing?” Petros growls.

“Watching a sitcom that might be older than you?” Tavros says, smiling.

Petros doesn’t smile back. “I’ve been trying to get in contact with you for the past _two hours,_ idiot.”

“Really?” Tavros looks at his iHusk, “Looks like my battery died during the pillow fight.” He shrugs. “No big deal.”

“It _is_ a big deal! Why do you _never_ take anything seriously?” Petros growls, “Rufioh was fucking freaking out all godsdamned day and I had to put up with it! Would it have _killed_ you to call or come by your own godsdamned trailer?”

Whatever is going on with Petros, he’s losing his cool exterior. You haven’t heard anything from Rufioh or Porrim but you’re too frightened to look at your iHusk.  

Tavros winces, physically inching away from his grandfather. His fear of shouting and loud noises must be intensifying right now. “Grandpa, what’s going--” he mutters.

“Calm your shit, old man.” Gamzee growls, showing his fangs, “Tav isn’t your fucking dog for you to yank around. It’s not his fault he wanted to go out and have fun.”

“Stay the fuck out of this, clown trash.” Petros snarls, “I am in _no_ _fucking_ _mood_ to deal with you.”

Gamzee stands but Petros is still far bigger than him. You admire his bravado, but still hope it gets him injured. Karkat and Terezi are completely still and look as unsure as you currently are.

“Well, I’m in a mood to deal with _you_.” Gamzee growls, “You think I’m scared of you just cause of your size? I’ve _killed_ fuckers twice your size.”

“Maybe we should all take a calm, deep breath a-and go outside…?” Tavros shakily says.

“Or at least fight outside and not around this newly purchased furniture?” Terezi suggests.

“You may think you’re tough, _runt_ , but you’re a _joke_ of a highblood.” Petros hisses, teeth clenched, “You’re pathetic even by the standard of the most desperate clown and I know you type. Your type doesn’t kill as much as you’re fucked by the bigger, _stronger_ ones…passed around like a _bucket_.”

That’s when things turn from tense to violent. Gamzee moves in to head-butt Petros with his horns, a sensible move given Gamzee’s lack of height but having still-sharp horns. Petros grabs his horns and throws Gamzee into the wall, shaking the hanging pictures. Everything is happening so quickly and all you can do is move to Terezi and make sure she’s safe. Terezi is watching the scene slack jawed and Karkat is recording in with immense indifference. Tavros is the only one panicking, yelling at them to stop fighting.

Petros grabs a fistful of Gamzee’s hair and lifts him. Before Gamzee can get out of the hold, Petros seizes the smaller highblood’s throat. Everyone in the room goes silent and still; one wrong move and Petros can easily snap Gamzee’s neck. Gamzee snarls, clawing at the hand on his throat. Petros’s other hand grips Gamzee’s shoulder, keeping him pinned.

“Listen here, you waste of skin and bone,” Petros hisses, “I hate highbloods. I _really_ fucking hate highbloods. You’re a parasitic hemotype made of pan-rotted fuckups and one day, you’re all going to die out. You’re no good for my grandson and you’re no good for _anyone_.”

“Fuck you— _shit--_ ” Gamzee chokes as the hand around his throat squeezes.

 _“Stop it!”_ Tavros screams, standing, “You’re going to strangle him!”  

“I should,” Petros growls, low and sinister, as he leans in close to Gamzee, “I should do the world a favor and eliminate another highblood…”

You’ve heard that voice before. It’s a voice only equal to oblivion.

Then Petros kisses Gamzee. It’s a black kiss: all teeth, anger, and hatred. Terezi, Tavros, Karkat, and you go from terrified to surprised and confused. It’s a little too much for Tavros, who falls back on the couch, astonished.

Gamzee just looks confused and after Petros breaks off the kiss, stares at him. Petros stares back at Gamzee and the reality of his actions settle in. He immediately lets go of the purpleblood and starts pacing.

“Shit. Shit. _Fuck_!” Petros snarls a string of expletives, looks at the stunned Gamzee, and then leaves the trailer as abruptly as he arrived.

The trailer is silent for five whole minutes as everyone mentally recounts the previous events.

“Did…did that just _happen_?” Tavros breathes.

“I-I don’t know.” you say, voice shaking.

Gamzee is sitting on the floor, breathing slowly and blinking. Through his baggy pants, you can see his bulge slithering along his thigh in slow, wet strokes. The purpleblood takes a deep breath and stands. “Did… _not_ expect that.” he mutters.

“Are you…okay? You look dizzy.” Tavros says.

Gamzee scratches the top of his head.“I…I have no idea.” he quietly admits.

Terezi jolts and takes her iHusk out of her pocket. She tastes the screen, frowns, and looks at Tavros. “Um, Tavros. I have some bad news…”

“Compared to what just happen, nothing else could surprise me.” Tavros mutters.

“Vriska just messaged me. Your Grandma Mindfang is in the hospital.” Terezi says, “She fell at her nursing home and she’s not doing well.”

Tavros sags into the couch, deflating like a helium balloon. “Well…” he sighs, “… _fuck_.”


	4. epilogue: ashen emergency

**== >Kankri: Be Petros at that exact moment**

You have no idea what’s going through your skull. You promised yourself when you came to New Jack that you wouldn’t make things complicated and now you’ve caused a train wreck. You need to talk to your auspistice but you can’t do it out in the open. You go back to Rufioh’s empty trailer. Rufioh got the call about Mindfang hours ago and took off with Porrim to meet Aranea and Horuss at her nursing home in Ridgeside. You have no idea why they stuck Mindfang all the way out there, but you don’t want to ask _._

You sit in your shared bedroom and call your auspistice using the private number. You need to hear his voice because text isn’t going to convey how big a fuck-up this is.

After a minute of ringing, you hear your auspistice’s slightly sleepy voice yawn into the phone. “The fuck you want, cow?”

“Hey asshole.” You say, “I think I’m still pitch for the GHB and I… _may_ have kissed his descendant.”

“What?” Then he repeats, far louder, “ _What in the fuck, Petros? What do you mean by ‘may’?”_

“‘May’ as in ‘already have’...” you sigh.

“For fuck’s sake. _Petros_!” You hear your auspistice rustle and then curse as he bumps into something. He must have been asleep and lying down. “You can’t keep black-pining after that asshole by getting hooked up with his descendants. I already told you there’s no one in New Jack you want to quadrant with, _especially_ purplebloods.”

“I thought you said the mutantbloods?”

“Everyone there is a toxic quadrant waiting to happen…” Your auspistice grunts, “Let’s not forget what happened to your _last_ pitch quadrant.”

“This is different!” you say, “He can’t injure me like the GHB did.”

“ _All_ purplebloods hurt the person they quadrant with at least once and once is enough to get you killed.”  Your auspice growls, “Do you want to take that risk? _Again?_ ”

“No…” you grumble, sulkily.

“Why exactly do you want to pitch this asshole— _wait a fucking minute_. _Which_ descendant of the GHB are you considering?”

“Um.”

“It better not be who I _think_ it is.”

Gods, you have such a _strong_ temptation to lie. “The young one…” you say as vaguely as possible.

“Oh, I know who it _is_! You have to be out of your _pan_ if you think it’s a good idea to pitch _Gamzee fucking Makara_! How did you even get that in your _head_?”

“I hate him.”

“You only hate him because of his proximity to your grandson.”

“That and he’s the son of someone I hate and he’s the father of my great-grandchild and my grandson can’t see what a complete loser idiot he is and I _really want to fuck him_.” Just the thought of Gamzee bent over the couch with your bulge deep inside of his nook makes your bulge slide completely out of its sheath. It futilely rubs against the inner fabric of your boxers.

“I think you’re in heat.”

“I’m not in heat!”

“Are you _sure_ you’re not? Because when you go into heat, you start making shitty decisions. Why don’t you go to a brothel and just hump it out? Gods know there are _plenty_ in New Jack City.”

“I’m _tired_ of fucking strangers. That’s what I’ve been doing for the past thirty years. Or fifty years.” You sigh and lean against the wall. “I can’t even fucking remember the last time I was in a solid quadrant instead of just wandering the fuck around.”

“Okay,” your auspistice sighs, “it sounds like something else is going on.”

“Nothing else is going on.” you growl.

“Yes, there is, because you’re getting defensive about _absolutely_ _nothing_. Do you want me to put your moirail on?”

“I don’t need to talk to her. I’m fine.” You don’t want to get all emotional right now.

“Like hell yo’ are, beach!” says your moirail.

You suppress a groan. Your fuckhead of an auspistice put her on anyway. He must be in the corner laughing his ass off.

“What’s goin’ on wit’ you?” asks your moirail.

“I…” You pause, think about your words, and then rephrase them. “Mindfang’s getting ready to die. Aranea just said she fell and is in a bad condition, but I know better. She’s not going to recover and…I don’t know how I feel about it.”

“Yo’ still got feelin’s for her?”

“No,” you admit truthfully, “I can’t stand her but knowing she’s about to go…just reminds me how old I am. How much longer before I’m next?”

“Won’t be for a long time wit’ me around.”

“I know, but I’m just wondering what I left behind with…the way things are now. Yeah, I got descendants aplenty but they don’t know me. I have you two, but as for concupiscent…it’s empty and I think I’m feeling it more and more.”

“Their lives an’ yo’ life ain’t exactly gonna be intersectin’ for too long. An’ even if yo’ get concupiscent wit’ someone, could yo’ leave ‘em behind when yo’ gotta go?”

“I don’t know.” Your past relationships never lasted long enough to make the person worth introducing to your quads and you doubt such a serious relationship would happen here, even with everyone in the neighborhood initially gunning after you until they learn about your disinterest. “I want to pitch Gamzee.”

Your moirail groans and you hear your auspistice laugh in the background. He must love the look on her face.

“That is the _worst possible thing_ yo’ could do!” she groans, “What’s wit’ yo’ an’ _highbloods_? Yo’ say yo’ hate ‘em but they’re _always_ in yo’ quadrants.”

“It’s complicated...” you sigh.

“I’ll say.”

“What should I do?”

“Besides removin’ yo’ bulge an’ buryin’ it in the backyard ‘fore it gets yo’ into trouble? Yo’ need a distraction ‘cause yo’ start fuckin’ up when yo’ get too much free time on yo’ hands. Maybe yo’ should spend more time wit’ yo’ grandson?”

“I would but he hangs around”—that infuriatingly attractive highblood—“his mentally derelict matesprit.”

“Yo’ have to learn to live wit’ ‘em. Just keep tellin’ yo’self that the nook ain’t worth it, no matter how much the bulge wants it. An’ Petros?”

You have no idea if your bulge will listen. It rarely does. “Yeah?”

“I miss yo’.”

You smile. “I miss you too, but I have to stay. I need…to finish this.”

“Alright.”

She hangs up and once again, you’re alone. You’re calm but the sick sensation in your stomach remains, and you no longer know if it’s being far from your moirail or knowing that Mindfang’s life is leaving her. This wasn’t supposed to happen. No matter how much you ignore it, the bone-deep knowledge of the wrongness going on here won’t leave.

You were supposed to die long before she got a wrinkle. Not everything is wrong and it hurts more then you can stand. You give up reasoning with your brain, with the instincts and traditions ingrained on it long before your mind could process higher thoughts. You try to sleep, but Mindfang lingers with you. The deeper you fall into sleep, the more she slinks from the shadows. In your dreams, she’s still young and her hair is long and lustrous like black spider silk. You’re lying in a field of tall grass, having just bought the property and enjoying yourselves before the ground breaking at dawn.

“I’m going to build it to last.” You tell her.

 

 

“Like us.” she says, with a sultry purr.

You kiss her and wake up in the darkness, alone and quiet save for your haggard breath. People are yet to return home, leaving you still isolated in your son’s trailer. You grind your teeth. Fuck it. You don’t care where any of them are. You’re fine just lying.

You don’t care.


End file.
